


Certainties

by ForACupOfCoffee



Category: Miss Scarlet and the Duke (TV 2020)
Genre: F/M, Moments, Unfinished sentences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28381263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForACupOfCoffee/pseuds/ForACupOfCoffee
Summary: Just two people looking for certainty.
Relationships: Eliza Scarlet/William 'The Duke' Wellington
Comments: 7
Kudos: 145





	Certainties

**Author's Note:**

> The biggest "thank you" goes out to my amazing beta-reader, Wind_and_Sky22, for all her help.
> 
> As for me: That egg-cooking scene has sent me here. I hope you enjoy.

# Certainties

I

On their best days, William is willing to admit that this unlikely partnership has its perks. On those days, when all the fighting, bickering, and disagreeing about everything has amounted to something useful (that something usually being a vital clue to solving a case and sometimes just them coming to a shared understanding) he is very fond of Eliza. On those days, it’s good to have her around; on those days he can find something endearing in almost everything about Eliza, and on those days he really appreciates her keen mind and her unconventionality.

On their worst days, when Eliza has tried his patience a little too much, and he is riled up badly, and every single pleasant memory seems to be far, far away and forgotten, William is not so broad-minded. On those days, he calls Eliza a terrible nuisance and an insufferable little girl, he is ready to blame Henry for messing up her education and laments how nobody has taught Eliza to behave like a proper lady. Then, he’ll swear that he never ever wants to hear or see her again, that she causes nothing but trouble and that he pities the poor fool who will one day become her husband with all his heart. (And on those days, he’ll almost mean it).

And on his worst nights, William acknowledges that he is allowing himself to get used to all this a little too willingly. On those days, he does not turn a blind eye to the fact that he might secretly be enjoying all this (the good and the bad days) just a little too much, that he might end up fighting a losing battle; for sooner or later Eliza will marry and he’ll be back on his own. On those lonely nights, he either tells himself that this day is still a faraway one or that maybe, possibly--

But he never allows himself to finish that thought.

II

His eyes linger on her face, definitely for longer than he can justify. Eliza doesn’t catch him at it, for she is completely engrossed in her task. Every now and then she frowns ever so slightly, sometimes her lips curl or she presses them together while her eyes fly over the pages.

William finally turns away, back to his own pile of papers. For the last two hours, he and Eliza have been sitting in this archive, going through tons of old, dusty newspaper issues, in search of evidence proving an old romantic connection between a recent suspect and a man who died three days ago. Eliza has promised him that they’ll find something to prove that revenge theory of hers among the society pages, her exact words being “William, trust me. There’s got to be something. Lovers just can’t help but give themselves away, they always do. Hence we will either find something concrete, like an engagement announcement, or at least uncover some gossip.”

As a reasonable man, William has had to agree that this theory does show some promise and that understanding is, of course, the sole reason why he has allowed her to drag him across town. Two hours of sitting on uncomfortable chairs under the dim light of a single lamp, and they have yet to find something—but for some reason, he does not mind.

As a clear-sighted man, William is well aware that his endurance has a lot to do with how they spent this time: mostly silent, the only interruptions coming from Eliza giving a dry comment on some particular pretentious wording or a semi-scandalous incident. It’s a welcome change, a reminder that sometimes they can be like this, and he likes that.

As a guarded man, William has to remind himself once again that he had better not get used to this kind of shared objective and time. And since this thought is most unwelcome, it quickly leads him to another insight: as a detective inspector he had bloody better get on with his task and make sure that at least he will be the one to find that needle in the haystack, or he’ll never hear the end of it from Eliza.

He has managed to skim three more issues when she breaks the silence again, but he immediately knows that this time is different.

“So, William?”

She has a question and his instincts tell him that she is wording that question carefully, which is never a good sign with Eliza Scarlet.

“How come no woman has yet done you ‘the honour of becoming your wife’?”

She makes it sound like half of a joke by using the same wording they have now read approximately a thousand times and it’s still worse than he expected it to be. This time he does meet her eye; she is looking at him firmly and expectantly, meaning that she will not let him off the hook easily.

“No lasting affair and nobody you are courting? I mean, there isn’t—or is there?”

“Please don’t tell me that you have a friend you want to set me up with, Eliza.” He leans back, slipping into the role of the long-suffering counterpart anddetermined to stick it out. After all, it’s not like he has something to hide. As for facts, William is fairly certain that no such friend exists, for Eliza has never had much patience with the oppressively respectable members of her sex, but knowing that doesn’t stop him from suddenly feeling uneasy.

He raises his hand and keeps talking without giving her the chance to answer. “You know what? Don’t. Say it.” It’s rude and rather uncalled for, especially given the atmosphere up to now and William is far too aware of his reason: he wants to stop her from saying something he does not want to hear, something that would put him in his place.

Alright, fine maybe there is something he’d like to hide.

Eliza blinks a few times, apparently mildly irritated by his reaction, but she lets him have it his way for once.

“No, there’s no such thing. Because I—” He slides back and forth on his chair (why do those blasted things have to be so uncomfortable again?), sniffs, clears his throat, and instead of telling her that this is none of her business he ends up on the verge of resorting to a familiar reasoning, of informing her of the fact that he neither has the financial means nor the time to invest in a second-rate ballet dancer or a third-rate actress. The reasoning is well tried, for he has used it frequently lately on noisy colleagues, during after work hours, while having a drink-- and not a moment too soon he realizes how wrong it would be to use it here. Awkward and totally inappropriate and—

Dangerous, even. That woman has so little tact, she can be trusted to call his excuse flimsy.

(And if she does, what is he supposed to tell her?)

He is not some monk and not even a decided bachelor, so it’s not like he has never had that kind of liaison, it’s just that lately things have been different, complicated: William has had so much work and is trying to get promoted and really at the end of the day, it’s obviously all Eliza’s fault. Either she’s rushing in and wreaking havoc, or he expects her to show up any minute and do just that. And lets be real here, it’s not like William wants her to depend on him, it’s just a fact that she does, even though she just can’t see that— for on top of those other wrongdoings, she is putting herself in danger all the time, and in doing so, she is forcing him to look after her. So in other words, she’s the one keeping him too busy for those things.

And needless to say, the fact that she’s taking up so much space in his mind has most definitely nothing to do with that one kiss nobody ever thinks about. (What kind of sorry affair would that be?)

Suddenly longing for a drink, William makes another attempt to make it out alive by going back to the oldest excuse in the book: “Well, if you must know, Eliza, that’s because in my line of work I hardly get the opportunity to--”

She rests her chin on her palm, musing: “And here I thought your line of work would present you with the perfect opportunity to meet exactly that kind of women--” The mischievous twinkle in her eyes tells him that she has heard most—probably everything—he just managed not to say about ballet dancers and actresses and he will not let her finish that sentence. After all, common decency does set its limits.

“Respectable women. Dammit Eliza, you shouldn’t even know about these things!”

She responds with a very unladylike snort: “Please, I am a detective.”

The sound is most welcome to him. It means he has managed to dodge the bullet and to deflect her attention, for William knows that he managed to touch upon at least two battlegrounds here, since both her phantom worldly wisdom and her occupation are topics Eliza can dwell on for hours.

Eliza flashes her eyes, crosses her arms and immediately presents her ruffled feathers: “I’m worried for you, William, really. You must be terribly overhauled, for your memory seems to be playing tricks on you. It almost looks like you mistake me for some kind of naive little girl, fresh out of the classroom. Did you really forget how often I’ve already helped you? Or who my father was and that he raised me?”

And while he endures this tirade like the patient and well-mannered gentleman he is, William finds himself able to relax again. After all, this is familiar ground, where he does not risk saying too much or giving himself away.

Of course, she’s not done yet: “And anyway: it’s not my fault you’ve got such an improper imagination, because I was talking about perfectly respectable victims and witnesses and next of kin. And also--”

And then, suddenly and seamlessly, she smiles. A real smile, bright and bewitching, one that’s enough to make a man lose his head, one that seems to say: ‘I see what you did there and I’m letting you get away with it just this once’.

“Well, it’s nice to know that.” Maybe it’s due to the light, but her cheeks seem redder than before.

He does not have to ask her what she’s talking about.

At that point, William realizes a few things: that he might well be one of those doomed men, that she’s been playing him for some time now, and (which is way more astonishing): that she has been tense too, and that among all the nonsense he has said, she has found something soothing.

For the tiniest moment, he imagines himself just getting up and taking those three, four, five steps towards her, seizing her face, and kissing her, really kissing her like he did all those years ago but different, without an excuse or face-saver, simply kissing her because he wants to, needs to even.

But William does not get up, he does not take a single step and most importantly he does not kiss Eliza Scarlet. Instead he forces the moment to ebb away. Just in time, he comes back to his senses and it’s Eliza who brings him there, by reminding him what a smug nuisance she can sometimes be.

“And you know what else is nice, William?” She brandishes the old paper triumphantly “That I’ve found it. Our proof. A while ago, actually, just like I told you I would.”

Fine, maybe it’s not her bravado alone, it’s also his fear of rejection that stops him. If this is not what she wants—

Luckily this time Eliza has had no clairvoyant-like insight into things he has neither said nor done, so she has no idea how he has been on the verge of making things really complicated for both of them. All she seems to think of now is the case that has brought them here, the case she has apparently solved and the solution he has a hard time giving a damn about right now.

Eliza springs to her feet: “Come on, let’s go, I’ll explain everything to you on the way!”

William obeys, slightly hesitant. While he follows her outside, he grumbles something about her wasting way more of his precious detective inspector time than necessary and her just beinglucky, while telling himself firmly that he just needs a drink, how he’s just been saved by the bell, and that he has every reason to feel relieved.

Later, at his office, after they have made the arrest and he waits for the whiskey to work it’s magic, he still knows he has every reason to feel relieved and yet he still has a hard time truly feeling that way.

For if he had thrown caution tothe wind, at least he would have known.

III

A man has to have his secrets, and Detective Inspector William Wellington is no exception. So here is one of his best kept secrets: once he almost asked Eliza Scarlet to marry him.

Of course, Eliza doesn’t know that and she probably never will, at least not as long as he has a say in that matter.

William had decided upon proposing marriage after the news of Henry’s death had reached him. Eliza was now left alone in the world, and in addition to her deep grief William knew all too well that her father had left her with very little financial reserves, for his friend had always been reckless with money. What she needed now was a man to take care of her, a suitable husband—and maybe he wasn’t exactly suitable, given his job and the status of his career, but he was there and willing to step in. To be there for her, do the right thing, the proper thing, to do his duty to both Eliza and Henry, who had done so much for him.

Obviously, it would not have been a romantic proposal, it would have been a matter most proper and simple. There would have been no pretty words for he is not one for those, and never has been. It would not have been about confusing feelings, it would have had nothing to do with their hearts. It would have been an act of honour, nothing more and nothing less.

(Later he assures himself that his decision had nothing to do with Eliza’s eyes or her smile or the way she sometimes makes him feel or that kiss from another life or the fact that the idea of being married to her doesn’t seem scary at all.)

All well and good and noble and knightly, right? If he was his own suspect, he would certainly have spotted how his reasoning was laid on a little too thick, and would call his willingness to sacrifice somewhat bogus and fictitious.

(Eliza Wellington. Mrs Wellington.)

He had thought about making his offer right when he first heard the news, and from that moment onward. Then he had thought for a little while longer, tried to pick the right moment and the right words. Procrastination may be the thief of time and in this case it has definitely been the thief of foolish ideas, for when he next sees her, she has already decided that she will carry on her father’s business and be independent, so the idea of proposing to her disappeared, never to be seen again.

(Funny how he still remembers every word of a speech he never held.)

But at least William will look out for her as long as she needs him to, until that suitable husband presents himself.

Besides, it’s a good thing that he has never asked, for now they don’t have to argue about his charity-proposal instead of that kiss and he never has to know if Eliza would have turned him down, even in that dire situation.

IV

In the history of all police-work, there have definitely been days more suited for being onlookout.

The sunlight never really managed to force its way through the clouds, the wind is cutting and not to forget the occasional snowflake tumbling through the air. And yet William stays put. Tipsters and his recent investigations have convinced him that the thief calling himself “The Greyhound” (a bloody foolish name, but what else is one to expect from a hardened criminal?) will strike today, and if he does, he’ll be there to arrest him. Well, he and the handful of men he was able to position around the museum, for he has not yet managed to fully convince his superior that the robbery will take place here today. So far, they have had no luck, but that can change at any minute.

Patience, he repeats. All he needs is some patience.

William shivers, shifts from one foot to the other, and wishes he could just lie in wait inside—which he regrettably cannot do, because being a single man, he would stick out like a sore thumb amongthe people hanging around that exhibition because they have nothing better to do. His simple, black coat and hat reveal him as working-class to everybody and likely as part of the police to the trained eye. Since he cannot risk giving that Greyhound character an early warning, outside is where he has to stay.

“Well, I knew I would find you here.” A simple statement.

Eliza. She looks warm,armed with a cape, gloves and a shawl. Warm and appealing. he has appeared at his side without making a sound, which is the only reason for his suddenly rapid heartbeat.

Obviously it’s not like William has been waiting for her, that would be pathetic. It’s also not like he has missed her, just because they have not seen each other for a few days.Not at all does everything suddenly seem a little brighter, now that she’s here.

She looks up at him, scrutinizing: “And really, William, what are you going for here? Trying to catch your death?”

It’s tempting, but he does not allow himself to pick up the part where it sounds like she worries about him and store it away for a rainy day. Instead he manages to focus on the annoying part of her question, the one where it sounds like he is some idiot who’s freezing under that damned porch roof just for the fun of it.

“This is an important operation and I am not attracting unwanted attention,” he informs her, sounding deliberately patronizing “Because I am a detective inspector with Scotland Yard and that is what I do. What brings you here, Eliza?”

She begins removing her shawl, and for the briefest moment William wonders if she’s going to offer it to him. Of course, he would be forced to politely decline but—

He would like it a lot.

Eliza does no such thing. Instead, she shrugs and smiles, and it’s the dangerous kind of smile, the one that warns him that he shouldnot have asked. “Very well, if you are going to pry, I will humor you: Lady Scuttham hired me to make sure that nothing happens to the priceless family jewels she has lent the museum, along with some paintings for the exhibition. Her half-brother hired somebody to steal them I’ve found out that this man is going to try his luck today and—” Eliza seems to be in a generous mood today, for she stops and adds: “So have you, apparently.”

And as if she just now realizes what she’s been doing, she begins to wrap herself up again in her shawl.

William blames the fact that this flood of words has left him at a loss for a fitting response on the cold. He has known some, but not all of this, but there’s no way he’s going to tell her that.

Since he does not protest, Eliza continues: “And that is most convenient, because I think we can help each other here. For our mutual benefit.”

He raises an eyebrow: “That’s...very generous of you. And what will that cost me?”

“Just your arm,” Eliza declares, like he is supposed to know what that means.

Since he doesn’t, Eliza is forced to explain her plan in a little more detail. Basically it’s just them pretending to be an ordinary couple of exhibition visitors, which will allow them to lie in wait close to the jewels and catch the thief in the act when he strikes. This disguise requires nothing more than her taking his arm and him explaining stuff (her exact words being: “Because that’s what men always do. We will attract no attention at all!”).

And while she talks, William realizes something he has been overlooking before because he’s been otherwise occupied: Eliza is somewhat agitated. At first glance her demeanour may be the same as always, but the way she fumbles with her sleeves and checks her hairdo tells him that something is bothering her and that said something has little or nothing to do with this case.

Maybe he overestimates himself, and maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but it seems likely that said something has a lot to do with him. William even considers just asking her, but he quickly decides not to; whatever it is, she’s not going to tell him, not in so many words at least.

(And maybe he is just not brave enough for that kind of question.)

She smiles enthusiastically: “Don’t tell me you haven't secretly been dreaming of the day where I listen to every word you say with bated breath and a melting gaze, William!”

Since lately he may have been dreaming of way too many things concerning Eliza Scarlet, it does not seem wise to answer that question, which is why he stays silent on the matter. Instead, William simply does as he has been told and offers Eliza his arm before they enter the museum.

V

“Dreadful, isn’t it?” Eliza says.

They have come to stand in front of one big oil painting that shows a large, colorful flower vase.

William has been busy trying to juggle all the balls he’s been thrown: not enjoying having her so close or feeling her head resting on his shoulder, trying to act naturally and coming up with suitable trivial remarks, waiting for the Greyhound to show himself, and waiting for the blow Eliza’s going to deal him.

There was enough information in the files about the Greyhound to be sure that he always goes about his business the same way: first he makes sure that nobody is paying attention, then he approaches the showcase, next he smashes the glass with a hammer and grabs whatever valuables he is after, and then he just runs. They have agreed to take turns keeping an eye on the showcase in question, so that one of them will definitely notice a single man moving purposely towards the jewels. At this time of day, not many people are around, which makes their plan even more likely to succeed.

William shrugs: “Well, I know nothing about art, but I think it is rather nicely painte--”

A small, dismissive wave with her free hand stops him: “No, I’m not talking about that silly daub, William, I am talking about the fact that I am expected to bore myself with it just because I happen to be a woman.”

Eliza doesn’t break character, meaning she does not raise her voice or stop smiling, and after she has checked the showcase, she continues her list:

“Fashion and gossip. Needlework. Cooking. Light reading. All very appropriate topics for me. Enjoying the comforts of my home all day. Oh, and I should definitely be more delicate and faint every time I hear or see something exciting.”

So here it is, the blow. Apparently somebody has touched on that raw nerve of hers and that has been bothering her. Probably some idiot client or witness, who has been talking down to her, and even though William feels way more anger on her behalf than he should, he also feels kind of helpless, defenseless—because her list is not complete and there is more to come.

It is a fairly simple calculation: Obviously his Eliza is nothing like those supposedly ideal women, but she is kind of used to being underestimated (he has made that mistake often enough) and she can deal with it, sometimes even use it to her advantage. Right now, though, there is something truly bothering her.

Eliza seems to expect something from him, from the man he is. Which is dangerous, for it could ruin everything. Thankfully, they do not have to take that risk, they do not need to slip on thin ice. They can simply do what they came here to do and wait for a criminal to show up.

William casts a glance at the showcase before he tries to lure her back to safety by resorting to a rather awkward attempt of lightening the mood: “Eliza, if you were to faint at every occasion, I imagine it would make solving crimes together rather difficult.”

His whispered offer is as kindly received as he should have expected it to be. She stiffens and lifts her head from his shoulder to look him briefly in the eye. Her lips may still be twisted into a smile, but her gaze does not match, for it speaks of disappointment and resignation.

William clears his throat. He suddenly feels outgunned, clumsy, and out of place. Sometimes, sometimes Eliza has that effect on him. All he knows for certain is that he’s failing, failing miserably, and that he does not even know what he is failing at.

The pause that followsis tense, and Eliza is the one to end it by withdrawing her arm, shoving her hands into the pockets of her dress and moving on to the next painting.

“I think we’ve been staring at this one long enough,” she says brusquely “Any longer and we’re going to look ridiculous.”

It sounds awfully like a final verdict.

Five steps and he has caught up with her. It is too bloody warm in here and William regrets donning that bow tie, for it makes it hard to breath, and he wishes he could just take it off. He tries again, still speaking lowly and stumbling over the hollow phrases: “Well, I imagine—but in fact I’m fairly certain, that surely not everybody would want you to be, and besides, your clients--”

Eliza turns to face him, not smiling anymore: “Most certainly, but I am not talking about them. What I want to know is...What about you, William?” Her cheeks are flustered, but she keeps her chin up and doesn’t back down. Maybe she’s made of sterner stuff than he is, or maybe she just has had more time to prepare for this kind of talk.

This time, he knows exactly what they are talking about for he hears her real question loud and clear: _How would you want me to be?_

And he also hears the resonating, unsaid rest: _For if you think I could ever become that kind of woman, you are setting yourself up for disappointment. I cannot change and I will not change. Not for you and not for anyone._

William closes his eyes for a spit second and takes a deep breath. He could tell her that it’s far too late for this kind of warning, for he knows that already and has known it for a while.

Maybe he is making a mistake, certainly he shouldn’t allow her to corner him like this, but he will do this. No more phrases or excuses. If he wants something from her then he has to offer her something first, that’s how all deals work. And since it’s clarity he wants—

“No, Eliza, I wouldn’t want you to be that way.”

A simple statement. He manages to hold her gaze as he makes it. Somehow his hand has ended up on her arm and maybe, probably if they were alone, he’d try to pull her closer.

She bites her lips: “But why not? It would certainly make things easier for you.” It was supposedly meant to be a dare, but her last words almost end up as a whisper.

And isn’t that the truth?

For a moment, William tries to imagine that other Eliza and he realizes what she has said to be both true and very untrue at the same time. Of course that murky “it” would be easier, there would be no challenge, no her being a step ahead of him when she shouldn’t, no constant fighting and questioning every fiber of his being and—

And everything would be proper and decent and boring, and he would not be able to care for that Eliza the way he does for the real one.

William hesitates, his survival instincts making themselves noticeable again. If he gives her that, then what is he left with? Then again, he is already so far out on the open sea, that he’s not going to make it back to shore undamaged anyway.

They both are.

So he will leave the deciding up to her, see what she makes out of his honesty.

“Because I wouldn’t want you to not be you.” It doesn’t even sound like his own voice anymore, for it’s so strained and husky.

Not: I want you the way you are. I love you but close enough

For a long, long moment, nothing changes, it’s just his drumming heartbeat and her breathing heavily. And then Eliza’s eyes light up and she opens her mouth to say something and this is about to be good and if they were alone he’d definitely pull her closer now and—

And then glass shatters, a woman screams. Neither of them has been keeping an eye on that bloody showcase for a while and that’s taken it’s toll now.

Yet for a moment, they hang in a balance. William has to leave and he does not want to and of course, Eliza is the first one to snap out of it.

“William,” she says, at least having the courtesy to sound out of breath, “Looks like you need to take up the chase.”

Maybe she’s relieved and maybe she’s just as disappointed as he is and William wishes he could stay and find out. Since that’s not an option, he resorts to the things he can do.

“Very kind of you to remind me. The fact could have escaped me,” he barks, before he spins around and sets out to do his duty.

VI

One chase, two arrests and several hours later, William is back in his office, trying to enjoy an after work glass of whiskey by himself. Today, the liquor is more of a consolation prize than anything else, but since it’s apparently the only reward this strange day holds for him, it’ll have to make do.  
His bones are stiff and he feels worn out from all the running he’s had to do, which is the only reason why he’s here and not yet back home.

The door opens and suddenly he is not tired anymore.

“Well, I knew I’d find you here.” Eliza. She closes the door soundlessly behind her, crosses her arms over her chest and does not come any closer. Those are the exact same words she has used to greet him hours ago, William notices, before secrets were disclosed and he has surrendered himself, only her tone is different now, softer and fonder.

Their eyes meet. The tension in the air seems almost palpable. Something is about to happen, they are about to clarify some things for themselves—this much is certain.

The corners of his mouth twitch at the sight of her, but he abstains from smiling for it would be premature. Instead, William swirls his glass, watches the amber-colored waves and then he clears his throat and looks at her again: “Back there, I was very honest and upfront with you. Don’t you think I deserve some kind of compensation?”

She tilts her head to the side, as if she is weighing his proposal thoroughly: “I don’t know,” Eliza finally says, “Do you?”

It’s definitely a dare, but the kind that invites him to dare more, the kind that gives him enough confidence to lean back and make his own demands.

“Yes, Eliza. I think I do.” He tells her firmly, sounding way calmer than he actually is, before he puts the tumbler back on the table.

He does not need it anymore.

Another moment passes.

“You know what? Maybe you are right.” He is fairly certain that she made up her mind long before she came here, but that does not stop him from feeling a sense of triumph, like he has won her over, like he has prevailed. Suddenly shy but still firm, she adds: “But promise me you’ll stay where you are, William.”

Eliza removes her hat, holds it in her hands and finally puts it down, next to his glass. She starts walking towards him.

Unwittingly, he reaches for his neck while trying to sound unaffected and completely himself, the overly important Detective Inspector with the Scotland Yard: “I’ve had to chase that Greyhound idiot through half of London today, I can promise you that I’m not planning on going anywhere any time soon.”

And only the tiny crack in his voice betrays his grumpy pose and gives away how tense he really is.

Eliza has reached him. In fact, she is so close now that all he would need to do to touch her is stretch out his hand, but he does not. He wants this so much he can barely breathe, but what he also wants is the certainty that she wants it just as much as he does, and that desire makes it possible to restrain himself, to stay where he is and not take matters into his own hands. This has to be something he’s getting because she is giving it to him, not something he can take.

He looks up at Eliza and she looks down at him.

“And now you need to close your eyes,” Her cheeks may be burning, but she still manages to instruct him very matter-of-factly.

“Eliza—,” he warns, but she just shakes her head. ‘My way or not at all’ her gesture seems to say and so William once more does as he has been told: he closes his eyes and waits.

For a long, unbearable moment, nothing happens.

And just when he begins to fear that this has all been one gigantic misunderstanding, he hears the fabric of her dress rustle. He feels the tender touch of her hands on his face and then finally, finally her lips on his.

The kiss is all he has hoped for and he returns it eagerly. Later he will definitely tell her that she seemed to enjoy this kiss as well and then—then he stops thinking all together. This is all he needs, all there is. Just this kiss and this moment.

Of course, it is over far too soon. Eliza is the one to pull away and by the time he has recovered enough to get up, she is already out of his reach.

Breathless and flustered: “Well, that was nice...”

“I am not going to fight you on that.” He runs his hand through his hair, being all at sea and trying to process what has just happened.

Or if and when he can make it happen again.

But at least today it seems, he cannot.

“I’ll be seeing you during our next case.” Eliza states. She is at the door when she realizes that she has forgotten something and sadly, it is not him, just this stupid hat of hers. She snatches it from the table and then she pauses to smile at him:

“And don’t let it get to your head, William!” she says, and then she is gone.


End file.
